


Preparation

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Fantasised Violence, Fetishised death wish, Fetishised violence, Graphic sexual fantasy, Inappropriate Use of Lightsabers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7170425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>General Hux has some thoughts about what a lightsaber would be better used for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preparation

It’s a terrible thing to admit, even to yourself. It’s not - it’s not that the good General has _any_ desire when considering the owner of his current sexual fixation. Oh no, if he thinks too much on the weapon’s _wielder_  then whatever arousal piqued his interest goes further South than the lowest, slum-levels of Coruscant. Away from the polished, durasteel veneers and into the dark, dank and disgusting levels hugging the planet’s long-forgotten surface. 

Hux doesn’t mind skirting the edges of depravity, but there’s a limit - hah - even to _his_ tastes, and the Glorious Supreme Leader happens to be his.

It isn’t _him_ as a person. It’s his **power, prestige, position**. Oh yes. _Those_ things are compelling, are intriguing. _Arousing_. The thought of being in command - complete and unassailable command - of such a vast war machine…

His fingers slide over the latex offerings inside his hidden cabinet, feeling familiar (and secret) friends and looking for the most appropriate for his current fantasy requirement. He has a variety of tools in his arsenal, all with their relative merits. The one he wants now is more slender and firm than his usual preference: sleek and metallic and unforgiving. Nothing like a real bedmate, because he doesn’t want to emulate another person. He wants to fuck _power_ itself. 

No. He wants power to _fuck him_. 

One day. One day he will sit on that throne. One day his visage will be cast a score of feet tall above the minions below. He’ll say _jump_ and they’ll be in the air before they ask _how high_? He’ll wear the most glorious of clothing, and his words will echo across the stars themselves - which ones he deigns to let still burn. A sky made dark until every light shines only on him.

Yes.

The perfect companion, and he hefts it. It will take a little imagination, but he can do that.

The lubricant he picks up is unscented, of course, and he strides over to the bed. He puts pillows under his hips, tilting them up. No one is watching, so he opts for this position to begin with, not wanting the vulnerability of being on all fours, even on his own. The toy is thin enough that he can coat the shaft with quick, sure strokes and then hold it (so cold) between his legs. He doesn’t need to focus much to get the tip against his hole, and really he should warm up, but that’s not the point.

In his mind, it isn’t this toy, and there probably isn’t any lube, either. After all, lightsabers aren’t _designed_ for penetrating in ways other than the traditional: plasma searing holes through flesh. He probably would end up injuring himself if he _really_ got his hands on Snoke’s saber and fucked himself with it, no matter if he put it business-end first in and–

Hux’s hand shakes as he seats the toy deep in one, smooth flush. The thought of how dangerous it would be, how he could fumble for purchase as he sodomises himself, how his thumb might slip and ignite it and the blade spit out of his parted lips as it cooked a channel all the way through him… how fast would he die? Would it be instant, or would he survive a few moments if he missed his heart? Would the pain make him pass out, or would he feel the agony blaze through him? Would he smell his own flesh cooking, or would the cauterisation be too fast? How deep would the blade go? If he left it turned on, would he live longer?

He’s pushing the vibrator so deep in it grazes his inner walls and his body throbs at the sudden intrusion, but he can’t help it. The thought of death being so close - so close and **inside of him** \- makes his cock ache to explode right then and there, and he flicks the switch on the toy’s base to start the pulsing pattern. His fingers fight to hold onto the edge as he slams it into himself, imagining the nobbled weapon there, instead.

What a ‘fuck you’ that would be. Kill the man, take his place, then turn the weapon of his hokey religion and symbol of his power into a _sex toy_ , fit only for Hux’s ass. He humps his hips down, and then he finds that spot inside that sends his mind sideways, and he bends one foot up to press against the hilt. Holds it in place, and flicks the program to a fiercer one.

That done, he rakes his fingernails over his thighs, needing the sharp pain to counterpoint the pulsing heat inside of him. The saber wouldn’t vibrate, but he doesn’t care. He could strap it to a machine to make it do that, or pull out the internal workings and slap a vibrating engine inside where the crystal death had been. He imagines Ren’s face if he told him: reducing his birthright and the one thing he has over Hux to a pile of circuits and a gemstone, and riding it in front of him. Maybe he’ll ask for Ren’s saber, too. Threaten to do the same with that (though the cross-guard reduces the amount of useable material, it would stop it from going in the ‘wrong’ way). 

Hux tightens his thighs, and drags his hands over his torso. Up to his nipples, and he pinches one, hard. Maybe he’ll get Ren to watch, make him stand in the doorway in his stifling uniform as Hux pleasures himself. He twists the pink nub, and rolls his hips in a circle, using his foot to keep the toy in place. His cock screams for attention, and he ignores it for the moment, playing the rest of his body instead.

He imagines Ren’s expression, after. The hilt clipped to his belt, gleaming and clean, but a symbol of his sexual depravity that he wears in the open. The galaxy would think it was just his pride showing his victory over the Leader, but the Knight would know it was his disgusting sexual preferences, too. Tapping against his thigh as he walks, bounce-bounce-bounce. There to fondle, to stroke from root to tip…

That’s too much to think about, and Hux grabs his cock in one hand, flicking the toy harder with the other. It sparks flares against his prostate, makes his balls tense with fury, and he strokes with his hand and imagines masturbating the hilt in public. Maybe get Ren to kneel before him, get him to open his lips before he knows it’s made-safe. (Or before it is.) Push his head down on it, hold him in place with his hair and thumb over the button, tell him how close he is to just turning it on and splitting his skull open and–

The thought of it, the sound, the feel… Hux cries out in loud satisfaction. He beats his sore dick to spurting, grinding furiously on the vibrator, moving until the touches are too much. He keeps it inside as long as he can, long after the splatters on his hand and chest start to cool, and he turns the vibrations down by degrees. Slow, slow, slow. Down to nothing, and he is left with simply the still and warm weight inside of him. 

He should feel worse about this.

He can’t.

Maybe he can get a replica made, to train with. You know. In preparation. It won’t be long before he has the real thing.


End file.
